


Click, Click

by thehighwaywoman



Series: J2!Scrubs AU [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Scrubs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehighwaywoman/pseuds/thehighwaywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to LiveJournal on 8/10/08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Click, Click

**Author's Note:**

> In today's episode: After the Closet Incident, Jared's looking to get some revenge. Jensen considers it his duty to rise to the challenge. Jared has Ideas, and Jensen does too. Creativity and evil meet on the same battlefield, and who'll come out on top is anyone's guess. (Okay, not really, but Jared likes to hope.)

"Newbie," Jensen grunts at Jared, not looking up from his intent study of a glucosamine test. "Need to have a word with you --"

Jared brightens.

"-- by which I mean I'm going to talk, you're going to listen, and you will not say anything until I'm done, at which point if you choose to speak I'm fully able to walk away at my leisure."

Jared dims. He starts to open his mouth to say "Okay", looks at Jensen drawing a savage red line beneath a score that displeases him, and shuts it again. He nods.

Jensen slants a flat glance at him and hmmphs. "What's that?" When Jared hesitates, trying to figure out if this is permission to speak or not, Jensen rolls his eyes and points with a jab of his pen. "In. Your. Hand, Newbie. What is that in your hand? I can use smaller words, if you like. I mean, you are only an M.D. It's to be expected that you're a little behind the rest of the class."

It's a paper cup of coffee. Venti-sized. Quintuple-shot espresso in dark roast, no sugar, no cream, scalding hot, Jensen's very favorite drink in the whole world and Jared would know since he's watched (okay, spied on) Jensen buying a cup this size from this very vendor every single morning.

Jared runs out of mental breath and his mouth starts moving. "Coffee."

"Huh. Why is it here?" Jensen waves him off. "Doesn't matter. No drinks on the floor, you know that. Either chug fast or throw it away."

But… I bought it for you, Jared thinks. "You -- do you want it?"

"Me? God, no. I gave up coffee for Lent."

"It's October."

"Are you questioning the validity of my beliefs?" Jensen takes the cup from Jared and drops it in the trash. Thunk.

Which is actually not such a bad thing, because while Jared likes to think of himself as a good guy, a nice guy, a guy who gets along with absolutely everyone he meets -- and damn it, the rest of the world thinks so, too -- because despite all of that, Jared figures he was about point five seconds from dumping the coffee over Jensen's head.

He's kinda tempted to fish the cup out of the trash and go for the boiling hot shower anyway.

Jensen's already moved on. Once again immersed in reading about pepto-triglycerides, he digs in the pocket of his scrubs and fishes out a tiny black rectangle about the size and shape of a Tic-Tac box and tosses it Jared's way. "Heads' up," he says after Jared's already fumbled the catch. "See why we don't allow drinks on the floor? That could've been nasty."

Jared's fist tightens around the box. He grits his teeth, counts to twenty in French -- which he only knows because Chad sometimes likes to pretend they're exotic tourists here to see the sights and up the skirts of as many beautiful ladies as Chad can dream about drowning in -- which, by the way, never works and doesn't start working now.

"I see that," Jared says instead of tearing a strip off Jensen. Dr. Ackles. Dickhead.

_Damned, pissant, irritating, aggravating, fucking hot as melted butter on a baked potato, could not stop thinking about him since I locked us in the closet and if I'm pathetic enough to close my eyes I can still hear him moaning. That Dr. Ackles. Jensen._

Jared pops out of his reverie to the sound of clicking. Jensen's snapping his fingers in front of Jared's eyes. "Wow, it'd be nice to dream my life away too," he says, smile bright and eyes unreadable. "Unlucky me, I have a job."

"Jensen," Jared starts, knowing he sounds desperate, but aggravated horniness will do that to a man.

"Okay…" Jensen drops his clipboard. "I can see we're going to have to add subsection 'b' to this talk, and I'd really hoped we wouldn't have to, so this is going to cost you, Free-Willy." He props himself on the edge of the nurse's station and crosses his arms. "Tell me, after our little 'conference'--" he adds the air quotes -- "you don't think we're friends now, do you?"

Jared can answer this question, at least, without equivocation. "No, sir." It's halfway true. They could be friends -- more than -- if Jensen gave him a chance.

Yeah, and tomorrow bacon will be proved as an excellent source of zero-trans-fat heart-healthy fiber.

Disgusted with himself, Jared mirrors Jensen's pose. He waves the black box at Jensen and takes a closer look. It's… plain. A teensy black plastic rectangle with a discreetly recessed tiny black button one-sixth the size of his thumb. He clicks it curiously.

Nothing happens.

"Ah, playtime. The nostalgia of childhood will bring a tear to my eye. It really will. Despair for the next generation of doctors just gets to me that way." Jensen snaffles the box away from Jared and holds it up so they can both see the button.

Jared obediently looks at the box, because as he will admit to himself, he's just that whipped by the Almighty Power of the Ackles Ass.

"This is hospital policy," Jensen explains. "I gave up coffee. I don't have the energy to fight it. When we get a new patient you point, you click, you put it away, end of story, and by the way this is the conclusion of the talk I'd intended to have with you. Now that it's over and done, I think you have patients to see, don't you? Mrs. Engio in 233 needs some fluid drained."

"Wait, no. Mrs. Engio is Sandy's patient."

"Not anymore." Jensen's turned away, leaning over the counter to retrieve something back in the recesses of the station desk.

"Why?" Jared's not whining, really he's not. But Mrs. Engio is… okay, there's no nice way of saying this: she's the world's most perverted great-grandma, and the horrifying mental images that will not be shunted aside that come to mind when she gets her hands on anything tube-shaped…

His balls try to crawl up inside him to hide.

"Why?" Jensen repeats, adding five or six extra definitely whiny Y's to it. "Because Sandy's prettier than you, asks infinitely fewer annoying questions, and otherwise has the sense and medical skills to be moved on to patients requiring more expertise than a band-aid and an aspirin. Where are you, you little son of a…"

Jensen hitches off the ground and leans over the counter, his feet off the floor.

Jared's only tempted for a second to punt him into next Tuesday. The move lifts his feet briefly off the floor. His ass, his _ohmyGod perfect, bitable, lickable, rimmable ass_ is lifted and presented at a viewing range that makes Jared's eyes cross and his dick stiffen.

He really is starting to think God hates him. Or maybe, every time he's talked about his insane attraction to Jensen and added "god damn it!" is having repercussions.

Jared casts a nervous eye toward Heaven.

By the time he looks back at Jensen, Jensen's on his feet again, dusting off his scrubs. "What are you looking at?"

Jared clears his throat and tries to discreetly cover his crotch with his clipboard. "Nothing."

"Good." Jensen points at the tiny black box. "Do not forget. Every patient, every time you see them, click-click-click. Are we clear?"

Jared taps the button, resigned. "Crystal."

"Then why are you still here?"

"That's a damn good question," Jared mutters to himself, turning away. Maybe he can get Sophia to accompany him into Mrs. Engio's room as a chaperone.

Not that Mrs. Engio won't start loudly elaborating on Sapphic and ménage fantasies the second she lays her lascivious eyes on Sophia but misery loves company, right?

***

Sophia's parked in the lounge with a full-to-the-brim tall-sized espresso steaming gently in front of her. She doesn't look up when Jared enters, but says immediately, "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to --"

"Would I help you with Mrs. Engio?" Sophia finally raises her eyes to him and folds her hands under her chin, her magenta nurse's scrubs warming her skin tone. "No."

Jared wilts. "Sophia, please. I've had a shitty day already."

"Sorry, Big Bird, no can do. I've already listened to her explain today, in great detail, before I had my coffee, how much better women look with shaved genitals."

His jaw drops. "She's ninety-three!"

"Yes, and after she finished lecturing me on how to exfoliate without getting pimples from ingrown hairs, she showed me her nipple piercings. There's no way I'm going back in there without a court order." Sophia relents. "Tell you what. I'll check up on Moffat and change his dressings."

Moffat is a plain, slight, short, balding man who never says anything. But the way he doesn't say it, with trembling hands, wobbling lower lip and beseeching stares from his red-rimmed eyes, is possibly even creepier than Mrs. Engio's enthusiastic raves of the recent pornos she's previewed.

"Deal," Jared says. He fishes his black box from his pocket. "Do you want me to use yours to count Moffat so you get credit for him?"

Sophia wrinkles her forehead. "Huh? Big Bird, what the hell is that? An iPod?"

"You didn't get one?" Jared frowns and clicks the button. He kinda likes the soft tick-tick-tick noise. It's oddly soothing. "Oops, damn. I'm only supposed to do that with patients."

"Why?" Sophia catches a glimpse of the clock when she shakes her hair back, thick and dark, and she hisses. "Shit, I'm gonna be late. I'll get to Moffat within the hour, I promise. And don't worry about clicking that thing around too much, huh? Whatever it's for. If they're counting heads, then that just means you get extra credit while administration tries to figure it out."

Sophia pauses in the doorway to wink at him. Women never really have done anything to trip Jared's triggers but at times like these he can appreciate the amazing heights of crazy-ass luck Chad tripped over when he got her attention.

"Hey, Jared…" she starts.

And then there are the times when Jared kind of wishes she didn't even know his name, because he knows what she's about to ask now.

She sidles back in, almost coy. It's scary. "So how did it go with Dr. Ackles this morning? I saw you bringing in a big cup of coffee and the caffeine content almost knocked me down from fifteen paces. Did he like it?"

Jared gives her a blank face, screaming on the inside. "You do remember this is Dr. Ackles we're talking about here, right?"

Sophia does. Her lips thin. "What did he do?"

Jared points silently at the lounge trash can in answer.

"I could kick his ass for you. You want me to? I've got good sneakers on today and everything." Sophia's pager goes off; she hisses and curses. "But later. Okay?"

"I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Soph," Jared calls after her.

"No, of course you don't. I want to kick his ass for my own enjoyment. Adding a toe to the nuts for you is just gravy."

Chad, Jared thinks, is the luckiest man alive.

He idly clicks his button a few more times for the comforting sound and slips it into his pocket. It's nice. Kind of like one of those tension squeezy-balls.

"Okay, Mrs. Engio," he mutters, readjusting his stethoscope around his neck. "Do your worst."

***

"That's bad." Sandy's trying to be sympathetic, in her way, but the ring of white showing around her irises and her vain attempt to cover her gleeful grin with one small hand don't help her cause. "Oh, Jared, that's… that's so… awful."

Jared sits on the edge of the empty bed and lets his head fall to rest atop the tray table.

"I mean, she actually asked you to… with the…?" Sandy gestures. For such a sweet, innocent, unworldly-wise woman, she has an amazingly good grasp of startlingly vulgar sign language.

"Mmhmm. And then she slipped me her number."

"Huh. Well, that's not so bad," Sandy tries to comfort him, slipping into cheer-up-good-buddy mode. "You can just --"

"She slipped it into my jockey shorts," Jared clarifies.

Sandy's eyes open too wide to look normal in a human face. "…oh."

Jared pats the side of the bed. "Sit. Comfort me."

"Um… okay." Sandy perches next to him, light as dandelion fluff and about as effective a barrier against the turbulent waters of hospital life. But she tries.

Jared leans his head on her shoulder instead. It's much nicer than the table.

Sandy tentatively pets his hair, which she has several times said was capable of eating a small country on its own. "There. There. Um."

She means well. "Thank you."

"So!" she says, too brightly. "Did you meet up with Dr. Ackles this morning? I saw you stopping at the kiosk for his favorite coffee. Did he like it? Did he say thank you? Oh!" She bounces. "Did he sweep you off your feet behind the laundry hampers?"

Jared knows his lower lip is trembling in an exceedingly unmanly fashion, but right now he doesn't care. "No, no, and no."

"Aww, Jared."

"He threw it away."

"Aww, _Jared_."

"In front of me."

Sandy stares at him, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. She squares her tiny shoulders and before Jared knows what's happening she's hauled him into a bear hug, his face mashed between admittedly impressively-sized boobs. They're an anatomical wonder. "Do you want me to slip him some laxatives? Maybe some 'MoviPrep'?"

Jared regards her -- when he's backed off enough to breathe again -- with awe and new respect. MoviPrep is vicious and he understands now the depths of her friendship. Wow. Evil.

Even so, it's tempting. As far as Jared can tell, though, Jensen lives -- lived -- on coffee and what Jell-O he could steal from unconscious patients' lunches, so where would be the opportunity?

And he's not that bent on revenge.

"Thanks, but nah." He kisses her cheek.

She blushes, prettily. "Jared…" She takes his hand, more naturally this time, and squeezes his fingers. Her Earnest Eyes tell him she's about to impart some feminine wisdom, and Jared has never, ever understood any of that, but she's a sweetie. He can listen.

"Sometimes I think Dr. Ackles is such a jerk because it's easier for him if people go ahead and hate him," she says.

Jared replays that in his head and nope, it doesn't make any sense. "Pardon?"

She elbows him in the ribs. Ow. "If people already hate him, he doesn't have to worry about whether or not they like him. He's confident that they think he's scum, so they can't hurt his feelings when they do call him a walking, talking, suppurating penile wart."

"Yeah, that still makes no sense."

"Jared!" She slaps the back of his head. "If he wants you to hate him, that means he likes you. He likes you enough to already be afraid you'll hate him, so he's trying to drive you away. How do guys not understand these things?" She huffs. "He wants you. Deal. Come on, the hand job had to have meant something."

"I'm not so sure anymore." Jared sighs. "I don't know. Maybe I should just face the facts and admit to myself that Dr. Ackles hates me." To soothe himself he reaches for his little black box. Click-click, click-click-click. Click.

"What is that?" Sandy takes it from him, turning it this way and that.

"My toy!" Jared plucks it protectively away from her dainty fingers. "Get your own."

Click-click-click.

"Wait. You didn't get one?"

"Uh-uh. Is it some kind of stress reliever?"

"I don't know." Jared sits up straight, shaking the box. "Dr. Ackles said it was hospital policy and that I had to point and click at every patient I saw today."

"Jared!" Sandy squeals, jumping off the bed. She jitters on her feet and gesticulates wildly, endangering his life and limb. "Are you crazy? They're going to think we have a hundred more patients than we do! Put that thing away!"

Jared blows his bangs out of his eyes. Without clicking, he points the box at her. "I'm starting to think I've been had. What do you wanna bet no one else got one of these?"

***

"Yeah, I got one." Chad pats the chest pocket of his green surgical scrubs. "Ackles gave it to me this morning, right before you got here, I think. Hang on, let me see if it's the same." He finds his black box and compares. "Yep. It's for measuring patient census, right?"

"That's what I was told." Jared feels so much better. Sandy probably forgot hers somewhere, or Jensen forgot to give her one, something like that.

He aims his box at Chad and clicks.

Chad clicks back. "En garde!"

Jared leaps into fencing position. "My name is Inigo --"

"Having fun, boys?" a familiar, Oklahoman drawl mocks them.

Shit. Kane.

"Don't let me stop you. I don't mind at all if you leave scuff marks all over the floor I've spent all morning wearing out my back waxing. Please, continue."

Jared shuffles back into doctor-stride, shaking off his rapier dance like it ain't no thang, and tries to nod subtly in the janitor's direction. "Sorry?"

Kane sneers.

Maybe it's stupid, but Jared doesn't like talking or even opening his mouth when Kane's nearby. Anything he says can and will be held against him in a court of one, and Kane's made it clear every chance he gets that he lives for the day when he'll have just cause to string Jared up by his testicles and let him twist from the tallest IV pole in town.

Kane props his arm on the end of his mop handle and watches Jared walk past him. Watches. The way an exterminator watches a suspicious insect scat trail.

There's a cup of coffee propped on the ledge of his supply cart. Venti-sized, with a thick black "5" written on the side. Kane tosses back a long, slow slurp and watches.

Jared's mouth often chooses to operate without permission, unfortunately, and now is one of those times. "Nice coffee."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It means nothing." Jared intends to shut his mouth and get away now, honestly he does. Instead, he asks, "Quintuple shot in dark roast?"

"How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Chris jabs the mop handle at Jared, saber-style. "Are you spying on me now?"

Jared gives up. "Yes. Yes, Kane, I am." He jerks his chin at the cup. "Where'd you get it?"

"This?" Chris slurps noisily and wipes his chin on the back of his hand. "Dr. Ackles gave it to me."

Brakes screech noisily in his head as Jared comes to a dead stop. "He what, now?"

"They gave him a bonus when he got his," Kane says with a shrug. "Valued customer, and he passed the savings on to me. You have a problem with that?"

"What? I, uh…" Jared looks past Kane to the nurse's station. Jensen likes to hang out there during his breaks, and if he's got coffee, the rat-bastard son-of-a-bitch--

He spies a pair of familiar-looking legs. Legs he might have memorized and jacked himself raw over a few (dozen) times.

If he follows the legs to one end, he sees sneakers propped up on the station desk.

If he follows them to the other end, he makes his way to Dr. Ackles's head, his full, pretty lips pursed in ecstasy while he drinks from his Venti cup.

And as Jared watches, Dr. Ackles opens his eyes, previously closed in silent, reverent bliss, and looks at him. His sinful mouth curves in a satanic smile that says, louder than words, _gotcha, sucka and bring it, bitch, if you've got the stones_ at the same time.

Jared thrusts his hand into his pocket and clicks his button. Clicks it for all it's worth.

"Dude." Chad's staring at him. "You okay? You look like you're about to, I dunno, pop a cap in somebody's ass or something."

"Ackles blew me off."

"Ah." Chad digests that. "Sucks to be you."

This would be why Jared likes men. Except for Chad. In that way. Which reminds him…

"Chad, when you next see Sophia, you drop to your knees and kiss her toes for being awesome and understanding and sweet and talkative and actually a human being, okay?" Jared asks fervently, clicking for all he's worth. It's not helping.

"I'd do that anyway just for fun," Chad says with a shrug. "Careful, man, you're gonna break it. I don't want to share." Familiar clicking echoes from Chad's box. "It's relaxing."

Jared exhales heavily. He points his box at Chad and clicks. A double thump of sneakers falling off the nurse's station satisfy him far more.

 _See, Dr. Ackles?_ Jared thinks in triumph. _I'm the bigger man. I'm not letting you get to me anymore. So. There._

***

"Newbie? Come!" Jensen whistles and pats his thigh. "Here, boy!"

Jared's up and moving before he realizes this is the way a guy summons his favorite lap dog.

He glares at Jensen, who radiates the purest of glee back at him.

Though it takes an effort of will, he stops, planting his feet solidly and anchoring himself to the spot. "What?"

"I said, 'come', and you 'came'. Now you've gone and thrown a monkey wrench in there by ceasing to 'come'. There's a direct sequence of events in place here. Delicate balance. Now we can either stand here and argue semantics for the duration of your coffee break --"

Jared bristles. The imaginary Self inside his head bares his teeth and snarls, saliva flying.

Jensen smirks. "-- or you can follow me and make this easy on both of us."

For a second there, Jared considers standing his ground.

"Your call, Bigfoot, but Administration's got a few questions about why we suddenly have approximately, oh, thirty-two-hundred patients in here right now. Would you happen to know anything about the errors in this census?" Jensen looks pointedly at the black box still clutched tight in Jared's hand.

Jared flinches, guilt-stricken, and opens his fingers. He's worn most of the thin topcoat of black paint off his button.

"Thought so. Follow me, Newbie. You're in for a trip to the woodshed."

***

Head down, shoulders slouched, little black box lying accusingly in his palm, Jared follows Jensen's footsteps away from the main floor and to the cubbyhole Jensen calls his office. It's dark in there, close, the air redolent with the thick smell of paper and toner ink and, yes, coffee. The walls are damn near saturated with coffee fumes.

It's pure perversity that makes Jared click the button three times, but it still feels good.

Jensen stops. "Newbie, would that be the sound of you disobeying a direct order?"

And you know what? Once again, Jared's just too tired to fuck around. He drops into the sorry excuse for a visitor's chair without knocking off the stack of medical journals, looks directly at Jensen, and nods. "Yes, sir."

"I thought it might be." Jensen leans on the desk, his weight on his hip. He's looking at Jared in yet another one of the thousand ways Jared can't interpret. "So you gave that button a pretty good workout today, didn't you?"

"It wasn't thirty-two hundred," Jared mumbles defiantly.

"No. It was only three hundred and twenty. Does that make you feel better?"

Jared glares at Jensen. I am not letting you push me until I lose my cool, he swears. Again, that is. I have recovered my inner Zen. I Have My Zen. So back off, buster.

"No? Aww." Jensen purses his lips into something so close to a kiss that a tiny traitorous part of Jared's libido, forever online, jumps up to try and catch the smooch on its way past Jared's head.

Jared, for once, says nothing, and he's darn proud of himself for not doing so.

"Have we learned a little lesson today about misuse of petty power?" Jensen rhetorizes. "No? Shame. You know, if that was a real piece of hospital equipment, your ass would so be grass with the board of directors right now."

The air has ceased flowing through Jared's lungs. "What?"

"That? It's got nothing to do with patients."

Jared weighs his options between crushing the black box or aiming it at Jensen's head.

In the end, he aims it at Jensen and clicks like he hasn't clicked since his Nintendo days. "You. Gigantic. Fucking. Asshole!"

He expects Jensen to throw his head back and have a nice long laugh at the gullible newbie. That's not what happens. Jensen draws in a sharp breath, instead, and fidgets.

Wait a godforsaken minute… Jared knows that particular inhale. It's played over and over in his recent dreams. He sits upright, gaping at Jensen.

Jensen, whose shirt collar is open, his tie loose, and the smooth freckled skin beneath sheened with sweat. Whose short hair is damp and whose lips are full from biting them, as he does now.

Whose dark, mesmerizing stare is not so much inspired by sadistic evil as… okay, yes, it's still sadistically evil, but more… aroused.

Jared allows his gaze to travel, ever so slowly, to Jensen's groin. "Hnnngh," he says, staring at the hard-on tenting Jensen's scrubs. He could put an eye out with that thing.

"Starting to get the picture now?" Jensen asks, his sharp edges roughened and deepened.

"Nnngh," Jared says, waving the black box. "Nngh!"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten how to talk," Jensen rasps. "That'd be a damn shame. I was looking forward to your 'to the victors go the spoils' speech."

An idea is slowly forming in the darkest, most suspicious pits of Jared's head. He slowly aims the box at Jensen and deliberately clicks.

This time, he's listening for it, and he hears it.

_Buzz._

Again.

_Buzz._

Jensen flinches sharply and bites his lip harder, leaving dents in the abused flesh.

"No way," Jared breathes, heaving himself out of the chair. He kicks piles of assessment surveys and unread memos out of his way and doesn't stop until he's reached Jensen. "Turn around."

"Newbie, are you trying to --"

"Shut up." Jared drags Jensen in by his tie and speaks eye-to-eye and mouth-to-mouth with less than three inches between them. Jensen's rock-solid hard-on scuds against his, which is trying its damndest to drill its way out of his scrubs. "Turn. Around."

Jensen cocks one eyebrow, lifts the corner of his lip, and turns.

And doesn't stop at merely turning. No, he grasps the edge of the desk, hands spaced far apart, and spread his legs, feet firmly planted with ample room for even a guy of Jared's size to fit nicely in there.

Jared can't do anything but stare. And cuss.

"Do you kiss your momma with that mouth, Padalecki?" Jensen speaks to Jared over his shoulder, giving him the barest glance of demonically-lit green eye. "I think you told me to turn around."

He wiggles his ass. "Was there a reason for that request, or are you satisfied now?"

Jared doesn't see his hand moving until it's landed flat-palmed, hard, between Jensen's shoulder blades. "Stay there," he growls, not recognizing the depth of his own timbre as it escapes his lips.

Jensen shivers. He says nothing.

He doesn't have to. Jared's still got the little black box in one hand. He points. He clicks.

Jensen moans.

"You're unbelievable." Jared's big head hurts and his smaller head throbs.

Imaginary Chad peeks over a messy pile of periodicals and snickers. "Dude. Not that I've been looking, but it's not that much smaller."

Not that Jared minds strokes to the ego, but Chad cannot be here now, imaginary or not. "Go away!"

"What did you just say to me?" Jensen demands, bristling.

"Nothing. Stand still." Jared holds Jensen steady. He knows what he's going to find, and it's that good old perversity coming into play again that motivates him to keep pushing the button while he drags Jensen's scrubs and boxer briefs down, pushing them to Jensen's knees. The telltale slick gleam of lube trails between Jensen's ass cheeks.

When Jared parts them, hammering the button, he sees the flared black base of the vibrating, remote fucking controlled butt plug quiver in sync with his clicks.

"Dude," Imaginary Chad breathes, and then flees. "I'm not worthyyyy…"

"I hate you," Jared breathes. He drops the little black remote fucking control in his hurry to shove down his own scrubs and boxers. "I hate you so much."

"Yeah. I can feel how much you hate me poking me in the back, Newbie. Slick's on the corner of the desk under Gall Bladders Monthly." Jensen undulates, rubbing his bare ass to Jared's -- ohfuckthatfeelsgood -- cock. "And use a condom. I'm not much on walking around dripping for hours. If you get my drift, and I hope you do."

"Shut. Up," Jared begs. He opens the condom wrapper with his teeth and slicks it on fast.

He reaches for the slick, gall bladder centerfolds be damned… and stops.

"Would you mind explaining the hold-up?" Jensen complains, arching his back. "In case Anatomy 101 has slipped your mind --"

Jared slips his hand over Jensen's mouth. Jensen stiffens, drawing up sharply. "I told you to shut up," Jared says deceptively mildly.

Jensen bites him.

Jared doesn't let go. He didn't bite hard enough to break the skin. Which means… he likes it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jared takes the tip of the plug between two fingers and tugs. He lets it get an inch or two out, then drives it back in, tilted up.

Jensen's yell is muffled behind Jared's hand, but the heave of his ribs and the desperate hitch of his hips come across louder than words.

"You know," Jared says hoarsely, twisting and turning the plug, "Sandy had a theory."

Jensen snarls.

"She said you were playing head games to make me hate you so I wouldn't like you. Or something."

Jensen snorts. And turns his face so Jared can't see his eyes. Three seconds pass, and he shuffles in place, growling impatiently.

"She means well." Jared tightens his hand, careful not to cover Jensen's nose as well. "I thought she might be right." Is she? He doesn't know.

Thing is, letting Jensen sense a moment of weakness is like bleeding in shark-infested waters. Bad Idea. And in any case when in doubt, hike up your balls and brazen it out. "Now I don't think she was right at all," he (mostly) lies.

Jensen twists to try and look at Jared, alight with challenge. No? Jared can almost hear him ask.

"No," Jared answers the unspoken question, sliding the plug free. "I think you're just a sadistic, demonic, twisted, amazing, too-damn-hot-and-you-know-it asshat."

He replaces the plug with his cock on the last word and slides home, gliding on the thin, body-warmed slick of lube and gives Jensen every last inch he's got.

Jensen's knees buckle; he pitches forward, only his grip on the desk keeping him from face planting.

"Thought so," Jared says, leaning over Jensen to keep him down. He doesn't let go of Jensen's mouth and braces himself with the other arm, thrusting slow and deep, steady as the beat of a normal sinus rhythm.

Jensen whimpers behind Jared's palm and humps the desk in futile search for friction.

"Gosh, too bad my hand's all -- oh, fuck, you're tight, fuck -- worn out from clicking a button all day," Jared says, hot in Jensen's ear. "Maybe if I hadn't overused my fingers I could give a guy a reach around right about now."

Sharp teeth sink dangerously hard in the soft meat of Jared's palm.

Jared slaps Jensen's hip.

Jensen tries to stomp on Jared's foot. He rolls his hips and bears down on Jared's cock, and that is so not playing fair. Jared has to drop his hand and catch himself from falling and that leaves Jensen's mouth free.

One lusty, ragged breath, and Jensen's thrusting back to meet Jared's shoves forward, the wet slapping of flesh to flesh and churning breathing as violent as a storm. "Knew you'd be easy," Jensen taunts. "Too easy. Almost no fun at all."

Jared would say he's having more fun than is possibly legal, if he were able to speak. Which he's not. He noses and bites at Jensen's jaw until Jensen turns to crash their mouths together. Lips move uselessly over lips and through it all Jared pumps deeper, harder, faster.

He hesitates before offering the guy a hand, but what the hell. Not wrapping his fingers around Jensen's cock would be far crueler than the MoviPrep, and it's not like he's gonna hate this.

"Oh -- God --" he groans, pumping his fist.

"Yeah," Jensen gasps, "like that, just like that, come on --"

Jensen's howl tastes delicious on Jared's tongue; he swallows it and trades back a ululating shout of his own. He seals his mouth over Jensen's and sucks his tongue and scrapes it with his teeth.

When they part, Jensen looks so well-fucked and satisfied that Jared's dick jerks, still inside Jensen and suggesting now would be a great time to start all over again. Seeing as he's here, and all.

"Get off of me, Newbie," Jensen says, and there goes that fantasy.

***

They straighten their clothes in near-silence. Jared steals a handful of tissues from the box buried under empty manila folders on Jensen's desk and shoves the box in Jensen's direction when he's done.

He has no idea what to say.

"Determination," Jensen says, startling Jared out of his post-coital brain-dead state.

"Huh?"

"God, what a wordsmith." Jensen rolls his eyes and straightens the hang of Jared's stethoscope. "Determination, Newbie, is what makes a good doctor. Following the trail of the one annoying inconsistency that doesn't fit the profile and not. Stopping. Before you reach the end."

"So this was all a lesson?" Jared doesn't think so.

Or at least it wasn't just _one_ lesson.

He's starting to understand a few things now.

Jensen doesn't answer his question. "Y'know what else makes a good doctor?" he asks instead. "Self-control. You need to work on those impulse issues. Quit rising to the bait every time I dangle a lure. Like I said, you're way too easy. Dismissed."

When Jared doesn't move, too occupied otherwise with gaping at him, Jensen snorts. "Fine. It's my office. I'll dismiss myself. Patients to see, chiefs of staff to drive up the wall. All in a day's work."

He heads for the door. Before his hand's on the knob, Jared blurts, "Wait!" He licks his lips. A more awful suspicion still wants its way out. "Jensen? Chad…" Oh, God. "Chad had one of these remotes too."

"Huh." Jensen pretends to brush back his hair. "So he did. I'd forgotten."

"Like hell you did."

"Do you doubt my word?"

"All the time."

Jensen's eyebrow lift is less angular this time. Almost as if he's…. impressed?

Naah.

"You know," Jensen says, "your friend Chad is an excellent surgeon, but, well, he's also a total dick and I don't take well to interlopers. I figure he'll drop a load in his shorts if he ever figures out he was helping get me off all day long."

Jared's scared. Impressed. Terrified. It's a whole new theme.

He kind of likes it.

Jensen winks at him. "See you around, kid."

The ringmaster in Jared's head clangs the bell to signal the end of the second round. Winner, and still champeen: Dr. Jensen Ackles!

_And the crowd goes wild._

Jared, my boy, Jared tells himself in all seriousness, there are so many ways in which this cannot end well. You're risking your sanity, your potential license, and your manhood. If these are the kinds of games Jensen likes to play, You Will Not Survive.

_Run. Go West, my son, Go West._

Yeah… nope. Jared doesn't think he's gonna do that. He hasn't changed his mind since the first time he realized this: he gives himself truly shitty advice.

He's not going anywhere anytime soon.

"Okay," Jared says, facing the empty door and breathing in the heavy, earthy, sharp smells of sex and medicine. "You wanna play? We'll play."

Time for a new strategy, and like always, he'll get by with a little help from his friends.

Chad will unfortunately go and boil his hands in Clorox when he finds out what happened today, but if you want help concocting evil, evil schemes… you ask Sophia, who's always with Chad, and Sophia's damn good at revenge.

Together, they can do a hell of a lot worse than this.

_You wait and see, Jensen. Round Three is all mine._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Back in 2008 at least, "MoviPrep" was given prior to having a colonoscopy done, and was designed to thoroughly cleanse the, er, system. Similar to "GoLightly". According to those who suffered through the experience, it should have been called "Go Explosively" instead.
> 
> 2\. I still (in 2016) cannot believe I went on for that long about a vibrating butt plug. >_


End file.
